You Put My Faith Back in Boys
by Meloxique
Summary: A cleaner is someone who gets rid of the bodies left behind by hunters. Hunters usually leave it up to the paramedics but there are times when the job needs to be done before any civilians find out. When the Winchesters meet their very first cleaner, they have no idea how important she will turn out to be in their lives. (Dean x OFC)
1. Pilot

She had fond memories of the salvage yard. Whenever she thought of it, she pictured a heated sun beating down on dry, yellow gravel. She heard it crunch like it always did under her feet as she saw herself hide behind the towers of crumbled cars all those years ago. She remembered the old, sleepy Rottweiler lazing on the hood of a faded, blue Ford truck and how it used to exhale loudly through its nose every time she surprised it by giving it a pat on the head. These events hadn't transpired over a long period of time. In fact, she estimated that they had all taken place during a few months before she moved to Nebraska, but their mundanity had left a lasting impression on her, maybe because it was the last time she had felt truly normal.

As she parked her Ute, however, she knew something was wrong. Rumsfeld did not lift his head up in interest at her arrival. He was missing from the Ford altogether. It was because of his unexplained absence that she knew she had miscalculated the severity of the situation that had been vaguely explained to her over the phone.

Cautiously, she approached the door and knocked. Bobby came in his usual trucker cap, beard and worn jeans, pushing the fly screen open. "Thanks for coming," he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "It's good to see ya." Then he shook her affectionately and she couldn't help but smile at him.

"Where is it?" she asked, making her way into his house.

"Living room."

She turned into said room and felt a brief spell of surprise at the unexpected presence of two men. They were crouched in front of something, blocking her view of it, with their backs facing her. Bobby never had visitors.

"Oh yeah, forgot to tell you," he said, coming from behind. His voice caused the two strangers to stand and turn. They had assumed they were the ones being addressed so it came as a shock when they saw her; a petite, olive-skinned woman with her black hair parted in the middle and tied in a low ponytail. "Sam and Dean Winchester."

She stared at them, wondering where she had seen them before. The name was definitely one she had heard but it wasn't just that that seemed familiar. As she looked at them, she took in their hair, brown and shaggy, short and sandy, and their clothes, that boyish style of jacket and jeans. Her gaze fell onto the necklace one of them was wearing. Its gold sheen battled with the blue of his denim shirt, left unbuttoned to reveal a dark grey tee within. There was no mistaking that she had seen it before.

"Aggie Munn," Bobby said, and the two men nodded at her. The taller one made an effort to smile but, at this point, she didn't know who was Sam and who was Dean. What she did know was that, when she looked at the taller one, he sensed familiarity from her, too. But, just like her, he couldn't remember from where and couldn't fathom why.

She looked towards what they had been inspecting before her arrival, what she had come here for—the dead body. One glance told her that it was a woman. Her hair was short and bleached blonde, blood trailing down several parts of her face and even pooling at her Cupid's bow. Another glance at the surroundings—the ceiling, the disarray of the room, the chair in the middle—told her the cause of death. "Demonic possession?" she guessed, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from the back pocket of her jeans. She immediately sensed a shift in the atmosphere after she said this. The Winchesters relaxed now that they knew she had come here for a reason, a supernatural reason that saved them from awkward explanations, but they also felt the need to be a little more guarded. Who exactly was she and why was she here?

"Yep," Bobby said. He turned and began to herd the boys into the kitchen towards the backdoor. "You better hurry up and beat it, before the paramedics get here."

"You called the paramedics?" she said, displeased. It meant that she now had to hurry with her job.

"What are you gonna tell them?" the shorter one asked. He had a pleasant voice.

"You think you boys invented lying to the cops? I'll figure something out." Bobby plucked a large book from the dining table and handed it to the other brother. "Here, take this. You might need it."

"Thanks," he said. The first word that popped into Aggie's head was 'soothing'. She supposed he did well comforting others with his tone.

"Thanks," his brother agreed, "for everything. Be careful, all right?"

"You just go find your dad," Bobby said, "and when you do, you bring him around, would ya? I won't even try to shoot him this time."

They left and, by the time Bobby turned around, Aggie had taken care of Meg's body. Her clean-up speed never failed to astound him and although he never asked how she did it or where the bodies went, he always wondered.

"So which one's which?" she asked, throwing some things in the bin in the kitchen.

"Tall one's Sam," Bobby said. He watched her nod and ponder something for a moment. "What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, as if shaking away her thoughts. "Care to explain the body?"

And so, over a much needed cup of coffee and some stale biscuits he had lying around, Bobby told her about the Winchesters' hunt for the so-called 'Yellow-Eyed Demon' and the history behind it.


	2. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

I was in such a rush to post up the previous chapter that I forgot all about an AN. ^^; Hi, I'm Melo. I've had this account for a while but I didn't use it until now. It was mainly so that I could save this username in case I ever decided to move here. You can find a proper introduction on my profile!

The opening scene to this chapter should really have been the ending scene to last chapter but, like I said, I was in a rush. This story is sort of an attempt to establish a non-white female main character who doesn't end in tragic death. Haha! I will interweave her storyline into the plot of the show so you can expect recounts of the episodes with a bit of a twist.

Bear with me because this is my first time writing and creating an OFC; I usually write reader-inserts.

I hope you enjoy and it would be lovely to hear what you think!

* * *

Tom wasn't ignorant. He understood that, in the grand scheme of things, he was far less important than his father, Azazel. It was even reflected in their names. Usually, only the older, wiser, stronger demons had a name of their own. Scum like Tom went by the names of the bodies they possessed if they were given the privilege of walking Earth. In Hell, they didn't need names the same way cockroaches didn't need names on Earth. Tom understood this; he knew how to deal with it. What he would never be okay with was relying on some human.

"Just sit tight and wait for the boss' orders," Azazel said as he cracked his neck. It would take some time to get used to his new meat suit, John Winchester.

"I don't understand; what's so important about her meeting the Winchesters?"

Azazel continued to fiddle with John's body. "The orders were," he said in a loud, stern voice, "to bring her to those idiots and not let any harm come upon her. That's all you need to know."

"Meg got sent to Hell because of that," Tom snapped.

"I know," Azazel said angrily.

"Nicolai—"

He slammed his palm against the table. "Nicolai was a fool! He didn't listen and he deserved what he got. _Don't_ be like him."

Tom clenched his jaw.

"Go and keep an eye out for the Winchesters. They're bound to come runnin' for their daddy sooner or later."

...

She had heard the Winchester name thrown around the Roadhouse before. That wasn't why they seemed familiar to her but Bobby's story had filled in the gaps that rumours from other hunters at the Roadhouse neglected to address.

Again she found herself at the table with Bobby, waiting for her tea to cool as he enjoyed a beer. It had been a week since her last visit. She normally didn't see him this often but someone had called for a clean-up nearby and, afterwards, she saw no harm in surprising him.

He was in the process of explaining to her that the thing she had been hired to clean up was a lamia and it was weird seeing one outside of Greece. However, before he could go into the details of how to kill it, she heard a metallic bang from the backyard.

"What was that?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"Probably just Dean. He and Sam have been staying here since John's death last week."

So it was likely that John, whom she knew to be their father, had died around the same time she'd met them. Within the hunting community, John was hailed quite a bit. Although you needed to be a hunter to hear the stories, any normal person would be able to realise his strength and skill even without knowledge of the supernatural. However, it also went around that he failed to apply the same sort of thinking to his parenting. Or, maybe, he did exactly that, which probably did a number on his boys.

"The demon got him," Bobby said softly. His eyes were on the window, as if Dean was right outside, but she knew he wasn't. He sighed and fingered his beer bottle. "Anyway, the Impala got wrecked in a crash and now the idjit just spends the day cooped under the hood."

She assumed by 'Impala' he meant 'car'.

Just like he had done only a moment ago, Aggie found herself looking out the kitchen window even though she was aware that Dean was further into the salvage yard than that. The tea between her hands had gone cold and she downed it with a wince before placing it in the sink. "Looks like I'll head off then," she said, gathering her anorak off the back of her chair. She had had it for a while now and she wore it almost every day of the year unless the weather called for something heavier or lighter. It was a light blue, slightly grey and faded, with a hood, cinched ever so slightly at the waist. The sleeves stopped just above her wrists as she pulled it on and it fell against her white shirt and dark blue jeans.

The door opened then. "Bobby, we—oh, didn't know you had company."

She turned to look over her shoulder as she fixed her collar. Sam and Dean were paused at the doorway, Sam in a light blue polo and Dean in a grey tee. Both of them had cuts upon their faces but it was Dean who had the deepest gash, one that sliced right across his forehead.

"I was just leaving," she told them.

"What d'you boys need?" Bobby asked.

Dean cleared his throat. "A car."

"For what?"

"There was a message on Dad's phone from someone called Ellen and we managed to get an address."

At the mention of Ellen, Bobby looked at her. "You know, Aggie's headed the same way," he said.

Although displeased that he had revealed this, she did her best not to show it. She enjoyed driving alone because it was the only time she could sit, enjoy the view, listen to either music or the soft hum of the engine and her surroundings, and just lose herself in her own thoughts. But, she nodded in agreement, even with the knowledge that all of this would be taken away from her. "I could give you a lift, if you want," she said. A part of her wished they would politely decline but, alas, she knew they wouldn't.

"That'd be great," Sam said, "thanks."

She nodded and allowed the two to go clean up. As she waited for them, she gave Bobby a glare, unamused when he responded with a casual chuckle, like she somehow deserved it.

They came down ten minutes later, Sam in a dark blue-grey windbreaker and Dean in a leather jacket. The oil marks on his face had vanished but it made it infinitely easier to spot the scar on his forehead. They both had overnight bags with them, making her briefly wonder whether they intended to spend the night at Ellen's or it was just in case.

She sent Bobby one last scathing look. "I'll call you," she said, leading the Winchesters out towards her Ute. Approaching it with two men trailing behind her brought on a feeling she hadn't felt in a while: embarrassment. She didn't know what year it was made in, little details like this she didn't bother with, but she knew that the model, a Holden HQ Ute, was an old one, and what made it even worse was that it was almost a sunflower yellow. She hadn't paid too much attention to how eye-catching it really was until she saw Dean inspect it with a smirk. However, he made no verbal comment and she didn't pry, instead getting inside.

"It's actually a two-seater," she said. "You _can_ fit three but it's a little tight." A part of her felt sheepish about this but nothing was stopping them from turning around and borrowing one of the trucks Bobby had out back.

Without complaint or witty remark, the two men dropped their bags into the cargo tray in the back and filed inside, Dean manning the middle. There was silence as she pulled out of Bobby's compound and it was only broken once she reached the main road and had turned the radio on to a low volume.

"So, you know Ellen?" Dean asked.

She nodded. "She used to be a hunter, but I guess you could say she's retired now."

"Retired?"

"Her main concern is the Roadhouse. She still puts together cases but she gives them to other hunters." She let her gaze flicker to the side to see them for a second before she resumed watching the road. "I think you two know better than anyone that you can't really give up the life." She meant no offence by this but the silence came back anyway. Sam and Dean didn't look angry though; they appeared to be thinking more deeply about her words. She cleared her throat. "Sorry," she murmured, "about your dad."

"Thanks, but we're fine," Sam said. She was right about his voice being unable to do any harm.

"Retired hunter…" Dean said incredulously under his breath.

"As much as her daughter wants to, they don't go on hunts anymore." They rarely did to begin with but it was out of the question now.

Dean perked up. "Daughter, eh?"

She rolled her eyes.

...

When they arrived at the Roadhouse, Aggie was pleased to find that no one had parked in her spot. The drive had been a long four hours, in which she had admitted to Bobby giving her a history lesson on the Winchester family and their quest for the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Dean was a little uncomfortable at first, disliking the idea that someone like her, a total stranger, now knew so much about him. He didn't enjoy one-sided relationships when it was the other party who had the upper hand. However, forced to sit beside her for four hours, he had quickly grown used to the idea. For the first two hours, the three of them talked sparingly. After that, Sam began to drift in and out of sleep and Dean would juggle taking unattractive photos of him with his phone and channel surfing the radio until he found something he liked. When he did, he'd either enjoy the song, hum along or tell Aggie about its context when written and the band that performed it. She didn't say much about herself and, apart from her mentioning Bobby's history lesson, neither did the Winchesters. The most they knew about her was her name and that she was a cleaner, but they weren't exactly sure what that meant just yet.

The three of them got out of the car and she reached into the deep pocket of her anorak to fish out her keys. She unlocked the front door of the Roadhouse and ushered the two men inside, not bothering to turn on any lights. "Make yourselves at home," she said before she disappeared into a hallway so that she could fix a few things in her room.

She didn't know what she was expecting but, when she came back to find both brothers at gunpoint, Sam under the watchful eye of Ellen and Jo giving the back of Dean's head a pissy look, she knew it hadn't been that.

"I told you to make yourselves at home, not…" She trailed off, unsure what to say.

The two women looked at her. "Aggie, you know these guys?" Jo asked.

"Yeah," she sighed, prompting them to slowly lower their weapons. "Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Winchester?" A look of recognition crossed Ellen's face. "Son of a bitch. So you're John's boys." Then she smiled. "Well, hey, I'm Ellen; this is my daughter, Jo." Aggie almost wanted to laugh at her change in mood. One minute, she was threatening their lives; the next, she was giggling at them.

She noticed Dean touching his nose. "You all right?" she asked him, raising a brow.

He only had to give Jo a sideways glance for her to know that she had hit him in the face. Rolling her eyes, Aggie went into the kitchen to wrap some ice cubes in a tea towel. By the time she had finished with it, the two boys were seated at a table near the entrance, their jackets off, while the Harvelles leaned against the bar.

"Here," she murmured, handing Dean the ice pack. He muttered a quiet 'thanks' and pressed it against his face. She caught herself staring at his scar, thankfully before he did, and moved to join Jo, pulling a stool out for her to sit on.

"You called our dad; said you could help," Dean said. "Help with what?"

"Well, the demon, of course," Ellen replied. "I heard he was closing in on it."

Dean spread his hands. "What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?"

He had resorted to asking this because Aggie hadn't been very helpful in the car. She herself had no idea Ellen knew about the demon and John, and she had tried to keep as vague as possible when explaining to the Winchesters who the Harvelles were, not entirely trusting them yet.

"Hey, I just run a saloon," Ellen said, "but hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once."

"Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?"

She lowered her gaze. "You'd have to ask him that."

There was a beat of silence before Dean said, "So why exactly do we need your help?" He seemed much more standoffish than he did in the car, or even when Aggie had briefly met them the first time, and she could only assume that he did not enjoy talking about John and mixing with those who knew him from the past.

"Hey, don't do me any favours," Ellen said. "Look, if you don't want my help, fine; don't let the door smack your ass on the way out, but John wouldn't have sent you if…" She stopped and seemed to realise something. "He didn't send you." Dean looked down before glancing back at his brother. "He's all right, isn't he?"

"No," Sam said softly. "No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It just… got him before he got it, I guess."

Ellen frowned. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Dean said, "we're all right." He smiled tightly.

"Really? I know how close you and your dad were."

"Really, lady, I'm fine," he snapped. Aggie and Jo exchanged a glance, somewhat amused, somewhat awkward.

"So, look," Sam said, soothing voice to the rescue, "if you can help, we could use all the help we can get."

"Well, we can't," Ellen said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "but Ash will."

"Who's Ash?" Sam asked.

"Ash!" Ellen hollered.

The man who had been slumbering on the pool table, who Aggie had learnt to ignore unless he was awake, sprung to life, scaring both Winchesters. "What?" he said groggily. "Closing time?"

"That's Ash?" Sam asked. She could tell by his face that he was not impressed.

"Mhm," Jo hummed. "He's a genius."


	3. 51 Hours

**Author's Notes:**

Thank you to those who take the time to review! I'm pretty sure I had something worthwhile to say here but I'm watching Parks and Rec right now so I can't really concentrate. =w=

Just letting you know, in the future (probably way into the future we will all be stardust) I intend to draw Aggie and the other few OCs that'll be included later on in the story as well as an actual cover. I'll post them on my deviatART page; my username on there is also Meloxique. It sucks that you can't link to other websites on here... If you can't visualise Aggie's Ute, feel free to Google 'Holden HQ Ute'.

Haha, but other than that, please enjoy the chapter!

* * *

By the time Ash had staggered over to join them, Aggie, the Harvelles and the Winchesters had all congregated around the bar. Sam slapped a brown folder onto the countertop and took a seat on the stool beside Aggie while his brother paced the floor behind them with his arms crossed. "You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie," Dean said.

Ash smirked. "I like you."

"Thanks."

"Just give him a chance," said Jo. She poured a few glasses of water as Dean came to sit on Sam's other side.

"All right. This stuff's about a year's worth of our dad's work so let's see what you make of it." He pushed the folder towards Ash and watched as he opened it and began to rummage through. The papers, old and yellowed, rustled as he flipped past, shaking his head.

"Come on, this crap ain't real. Ain't nobody can track a demon like this."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. Although Aggie could see their expressions clearly, it was difficult to predict what they were thinking. They looked neither offended nor astonished and they didn't appear to be thinking too deeply about Ash's statement.

"Our dad could," Sam said.

Ash glanced at them before continuing to analyse John's work. "These are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations." He squinted, oblivious to the fact that his intellectual jargon had made the two brothers look at each other in shock. "I mean, _damn_, they're signs, omens. If you can track 'em, you can track this demon." Dean looked at him blankly. "You know, like, crop failures, electrical storms," he explained. "Ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun."

Aggie let out a quiet breath of amusement through her nose.

"Can you track it or not?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, with this, I think so, but it's gonna take time. Give me…" Ash did a few mental calculations. "Fifty-one hours." He collected the file and stood from his stool, the Winchesters watching dazedly.

"Hey, man," Dean called before he disappeared. "I, uh, dig the haircut."

Ash shrugged. "All business up front, party in the back." He flipped his hair—almost luxuriously—then left for his room. Aggie chuckled as she downed her water, enjoying the fact that the two brothers were speechless. Ash was a perfect example of 'don't judge a book by its cover'.

Jo plucked a rag from beneath and rounded the bar towards the tables, glancing at Dean as she did so. A newcomer would have thought nothing of it but, having grown up with her, Aggie knew the swing in her hips had been deliberate. Discreetly, she looked at Dean and, sure enough, his eyes were raking over the blonde's body. He looked tired and almost not in the mood but in the end he pursed his lips as if to say 'why not?' and slid off his stool to follow her.

In contrast, Sam hadn't noticed any of this and was instead eyeing something across the table top. "Hey, Ellen, what is that?"

Ellen glanced over her shoulder. "It's a police scanner. We keep tabs on things."

"No, no, no, the folder."

Understanding, she grabbed it off the wall and laid it gently in front of him. "I was gonna give it to a friend of mine, but take a look, if you want."

Now occupied, Sam no longer needed company, so Aggie was tempted to retreat back into her room when she remembered that Dean was also occupied—with Jo. Feeling a protective streak course through her, she stayed behind to eavesdrop.

"How did your mum get into this sort of stuff, anyway?"

"From my dad. He was a hunter. He passed away."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. I was just a kid. Sorry to hear about your dad."

"Yeah." There was a pause but Aggie wasn't so foolish as to assume the conversation would end there. "So, I guess I've got fifty-one hours to waste. Maybe tonight we should, uh…" She thought he was trailing off suggestively but, when he finished with "No, you know what? Never mind", she stood corrected.

"What?" Jo pressed.

Aggie wanted to jump in. As she had suspected, Jo was vulnerable; the fact that Dean was a rare breed of handsome hunter with boyish charm was getting to her only because she had just gotten out of a relationship with another hunter named Rick. Aggie could sympathise; Dean was indeed incredibly good-looking, almost too good-looking that, she admitted, she spent an hour or two in the Ute wondering how exactly his face was so perfect, but she was not about to let Jo go off with him when they hadn't even known each other for a day. She was going to get hurt.

"Nothing," Dean said. "Just… wrong place, wrong time."

"You know, I thought you were gonna toss me some cheap pick up line."

He chuckled, wordlessly guilty.

"Most hunters that come through that door think they can get in my pants with some pizza, a six pack and side one of Zeppelin IV."

"…What a bunch of scumbags…"

"Not you."

"I guess not."

Rolling her eyes, Aggie grew tired of listening and stood. She made a quick gesture of farewell to Sam before retiring to her room, Ash's music seeping faintly through the walls.

…

Unfortunately, that hadn't been the last time she saw the Winchesters, like she had wanted. After deciding to check out Ellen's case, the boys realised that they had no other means of transport besides her and, therefore, were not able to drive to the nearest motel. The Roadhouse only had four bedrooms, all of them occupied, and, seeing as they were somehow her responsibility because they had arrived with her, Ellen thought it only fair to set up their mattresses in her room.

Ash's music was no more, but she knew he was still awake; he just didn't want to get shouted at by a sleep-deprived Ellen. It was raining and, after making sure it was travelling in the opposite direction, she opened the windows. Her room was filled with cold air and the damp, clean smell of the earth outside. She had brushed her teeth, washed her face and changed into an old t-shirt and pair of boxers. The boys had gotten their bags from her car and were currently in their own pyjamas, lying on their mattresses on the floor by her bed. Sam was looking over the case file, reading some parts out loud to Dean, who sat against the wall, fiddling jadedly with his phone. The only light turned on was the small lamp on her bedside table that glowed a warm, deep yellow.

"You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?" Dean said.

"Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents." Sam tilted his head a bit. "Ripped them to pieces, actually."

Aggie was lying straight and slightly tense on her bed, eyes staring at the ceiling. It wasn't their company that made her uncomfortable; just the fact that she wasn't used to people in her room at night, period. However, it wasn't difficult to adjust to. Their voices were soft in consideration of the late hour and the patter of rain was almost enough to lull her to sleep had she not been curious to hear about the case, which was odd, considering how she hated monsters.

"And this family was at some carnival that night?" Dean asked.

"Right, right," Sam said with a nod. "The Cooper Carnival."

"So how do you know we're not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?"

"Well, the cops have no viable leads and all the employees were tearing down shop—alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course."

"Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?"

"Oh, give me a break."

Dean laughed. "You didn't think I'd remember, did you? I mean, come on, you still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television."

"Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying."

"Planes crash!"

"And, apparently clowns kill!"

Briefly, Aggie noted that it was nice to just listen to them talk. She listened more than talked anyway but she was more content to listen to the boys than most others. Although she couldn't pinpoint the exact reason, the closest would be because it felt like they had accepted her. They didn't include her in the conversation and they didn't stop to explain or give her any context but she didn't feel like she was being ignored. It was almost as if they were comfortable enough to speak candidly in front of her.

"So, these types of murders, they ever happen before?" Dean asked.

"According to this file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales."

"It's weird though; I mean, if it's a spirit it's usually bound to a specific locale, you know, a house, or a town."

"So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?" Sam wondered.

"Cursed object, maybe. Spirit attaches itself to something and the carnival carries it around with them."

"Great," Sam sighed. "Paranormal scavenger hunt."

"Well, this case was your idea," said Dean. "By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."

"So?"

"It's just… not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt."

"I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do."

"What Dad would have wanted?" There was something in Dean's voice that made Aggie worried they were going to argue. She couldn't care less if they actually did fight, as long as it wasn't in her room with her in the next bed over.

"Yeah. So?" Sam also seemed a little edgy, like he was expecting something to erupt and, if she didn't know any better, was actually trying to egg his brother on.

However, in the end, Dean just replied with a resigned "Nothing" and she was quick to turn off the lamp, forcing them to sleep.


	4. Second Thoughts

She woke up a few hours later to begin the trip to Medford, Wisconsin. It was a ten-hour drive and the boys had to be there by noon. Although Sam woke up as soon as she turned on the lamp and nudged him with her foot, Dean was somewhat bitter about the lack of sleep and tried to ignore her. "Wake your brother up," she told Sam with a roll of her eyes. She went into the bathroom to shower and change and, thankfully, when she returned, Dean was sitting up in his mattress, hair mussed and eyes squinted groggily.

As the two of them got ready, she ventured out into the bar to have something to eat. Everyone else was still asleep so she was cautious of the noises she made as she went into the kitchen and took out a carton of milk and a box of cereal. Briefly, she pondered taking out spoons and bowls for the Winchesters but, in the end, decided not to and just took out enough for herself.

She was halfway done when Dean appeared, Sam following after a second later. "Stuff's in the kitchen if you want some," she said, holding up her bowl of cereal. Dean looked like he was about to agree but Sam declined for the both of them and, with a shrug, she quickly finished up, dumped everything in the sink and clapped her hands to urge them out of the door. In passing, she plucked her anorak off the coat rack and flipped off the lights before making her way to the car.

Again, Dean sat in the middle and began to fiddle with the radio. Sam turned on the car's reading light and leaned against the window, going through the file once more.

"Got any tapes?" Dean asked her.

She sent him a weird look from the corner of her eye. "I have _CDs_, if that's what you mean. They're in the glove compartment."

Sam snorted as his brother, both sheepish and a little annoyed, said nothing and began to flick through her limited collection. Some albums he liked, some he disliked, but there was one that made him stop. It was a blank CD and he assumed that she had ripped her own playlist onto it. When he opened the plain case, a slip of paper fell out. In small, neat script, she had written 'the best of the Beatles' along with a list of all the songs included. 'Hey Jude' was one of them. He stared at it for a while before clearing his throat. His gaze flickered upwards but Aggie was paying attention to the road and Sam the file so he gingerly put that CD away and, after settling on one that wasn't too noisy, sank further into the seat to close his eyes. Although he missed driving the Impala, he had to admit, it was nice being able to sleep and still cross off a few miles while Sam got some research done.

When dawn hit, they stopped for coffee. Aggie shook her shoulder until Dean's head lolled off it and he jolted awake. "Hungry?" she asked him as he inhaled and blinked a few times.

"Starving," he muttered. He looked to his right and slapped Sam from his slumber.

They spent half an hour having breakfast at a small café. Filled with cereal, Aggie only ordered a coffee. The boys on the other hand decided to get toast as well.

"Hey, you wanna take a break? I can drive," Dean offered.

"It's fine," she said, brushing him off with a wave. "We're halfway there anyway." She would have accepted but the image of Dean behind the wheel of a bright yellow Ute was disturbing and she didn't want to spend the next five hours trapped between two men she barely knew.

Thinking nothing of it, the Winchesters filed into the car again. Dean changed the CD to something with a little more backbone and Sam took a break from the research to check emails on his phone.

"Thanks," Dean said out of nowhere, "for, you know, driving us."

It was only now that she realised exactly how much she was going out of her way for them. She had only agreed to take them to the Roadhouse, and that had only been because she was headed there herself. Now, without even needing them to ask, she was driving ten hours so that they could amuse themselves while they waited for Ash to analyse John's work, and not once had it bothered her.

"Don't mention it," she muttered, keeping her eyes on the road.

…

By the time they reached the Cooper Carnival, it was broad daylight.

"Check it out," Dean said, nodding to what appeared to be some detectives talking to two carnies.

"You should go talk to them," Sam said, eyeing the clowns with displeasure. Then he turned to Aggie. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to." He realised he had no idea whether she was experienced in hunting or not. "Let's exchange numbers; I'll call you when we're done."

She nodded and swapped phones with him, inputting her details as he did the same. Although she was glad that she didn't have to tag along with them, she wondered what she was going to do.

"We'll see you later," Dean said as the two of them got out.

She nodded again, mindlessly watching him approach the cops as Sam stood off to the side, wanting to avoid the clowns. Felicity's house was around three hours from here and she considered paying her a visit but she didn't know how long the Winchesters would take and she worried that, if Sam called her during an emergency, she would be too far away to reach them in time. She wasn't that close to them but they were nice enough and she didn't want to take that risk.

Realising her only other option, she groaned and cut off the engine, joining Sam just as Dean did.

"Changed your mind?" he asked.

"Yeah," she sighed, kicking the ground. She didn't say more than that and so they moved on.

"Dean, you know, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything," Sam said.

"Well, it's bound to give off EMF so guess we'll just have to scan everything."

Sam laughed. "Oh, good, that's nice and inconspicuous," he said sarcastically.

Dean looked off to the side and, when Aggie followed his line of sight, she found that he was staring at a 'Help Wanted' sign outside a tent. "I guess we'll just have to blend in," he mused.

…

"You three picked a hell of a time to join up," Mr Cooper, the carnival runner, said. "Take a seat." He gestured to the two seats in front of his desk as he brought over a third. One was ordinarily black and the other was in the shape of a clown. Immediately, Sam and Dean dashed for the black one but it was Dean who got to it first, forcing Sam to gingerly seat himself onto the farthest edge of the clown chair. Cooper placed the third chair next to it, black like Dean's, and Aggie couldn't help but find it amusing that Sam would have had it had he not gone up against his brother. Dean smirked at the uncomfortable scowl on Sam's face as he fidgeted. "We've got all kinds of local trouble," Cooper explained.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first." Changing the subject, Cooper asked, "So, you three ever worked the circuit before?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "Last year through Texas and Arkansas."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. Aggie decided to speak only when spoken to, unable to understand the Winchesters' smooth lie.

"Doing what? Ride jockies? Butcher? ANS men?"

Without much thought, she glanced inconspicuously at the brothers, who also seemed a little dumbfounded at the unfamiliar terms.

"Yeah, uh, a little bit of everything, I guess," Sam said in the end, but Cooper knew better.

"You three haven't worked a show in your lives before, have you?" Thankfully, he seemed more amused than angry.

"Nope," Dean admitted, "but we really need the work. Oh, and Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady." He laughed and made a face, as if saying 'I don't understand it either'. Sam looked at him like 'What the hell?' and Aggie's mouth twitched amusedly.

Ignoring his last remark, Cooper pointed to a photo hanging on the wall behind him. "You see that picture? That's my daddy."

"You look just like him," Sam said.

"He was in the business. Ran a freakshow, till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified." Cooper scoffed. "So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess." He said this sarcastically, of course. "You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts—always has been—for folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But you three? You should go to school. Get married. Have two-point-five kids. Live regular."

At this point, Aggie was playing with her hands. Quite a number of times, she had come across hunters who mistook her short stature and baby face for innocence. "Don't you think you're too young to be doing this?" they'd ask her as she cleaned up their bloody messes. She was twenty-four this year; she'd been doing this job and answering that question for almost five years and her answer was still the same: cleaning was far less of a commitment than hunting and, if she really wanted to, she could up and leave the life in a heartbeat, no strings attached. She wouldn't, however, and the reason was simple; it paid well and allowed her to make some lifelong friends that would come in handy in life-threatening situations.

Dean opened his mouth to respond but stopped when Sam leaned forward, eyes serious.

"Sir?" he said softly. "We don't want to go to school, and we don't want regular. We want this."

…

"Huh," Dean mused as the three of them exited Cooper's office.

"What?" asked Sam.

"That whole 'I don't want to go back to school' thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?"

Sam fell silent and so did Aggie. She didn't like the tension; it made her question how dumb the brothers were to think that they could just argue in front of her like she was their childhood friend that was used to it by now. Bobby had only told her the bare minimum concerning Sam going to Stanford, focused more on explaining Mary's death and whatnot, but she knew the essentials. She found it interesting that the Winchesters considered Sam the black sheep of the family because he had wanted to go to college and live a normal life.

"Sam?" Dean pressed.

"I don't know," Sam said.

"You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings, you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State?"

"I'm having second thoughts." Sam shrugged. So was Aggie. About accompanying them, that is.

"Really?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job." This seemed to strike a chord with Dean though.

"Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam," he said, annoyed.

"Since he died, okay?" Sam snapped. Aggie raised a brow and wondered if they had forgotten her presence. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Dean looked at him, then at her, before finally shaking his head. "Naw, I don't have a problem at all." But even she could tell that he clearly did.


	5. Regret

**Author's Notes:**

It would be great to hear some feedback, guys! I won't know how to improve if I don't know what you guys think of the story.

* * *

"Hey, um, bathroom break," Aggie told the other girl at the counter. She nodded and Aggie quickly slipped away, keeping an eye out for either of the Winchesters, whom she knew would be wearing bright red windbreakers as part of their groundskeeper uniform. It was Dean she found first, scowling in mild disgust as he poured trash into a dumpster. Thankfully, she had gotten lucky with the job she'd been given.

"So, no EMF in the gift shop," she said as she approached him. Instead of a jacket, she was wearing a red and white striped vest. Dean had given her a spare EMF meter, which he said he no longer used because he'd bought a new one. To her bemusement, he'd proudly added that he had made it himself out of a Walkman.

"Yeah, I got nothing either," he said. Then his phone rang. "Hello?" It was most probably Sam. "What's the matter? You sound like you just saw a clown." He laughed at his own joke and she rolled her eyes. Definitely Sam. "Like a real human skeleton?" The two of them began to walk. "Did the bones give off EMF? We should check it out anyway. I'm with Aggie now, we're heading to you."

Suddenly, a hand shot out to wrap around her arm and she jumped. It was the blind man.

"What are you doing here, kids?" he asked.

She and Dean shared a staggered glance. "We're just… working," she said.

"Bull. And what were you talking about?" Even though he was blind, she could somehow tell that he was now looking at Dean. "Skeletons? What's EMF?"

"Dude, your blind man hearing is out of control."

"We're a tight-knit group. We don't like outsiders. We take care of our own problems," the man warned.

"We got a problem?" Dean asked.

The blind man shrugged. "You tell me, you're the one talking about human bones."

Dean looked at Aggie before he leaned in closer. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"What?" The man obviously hadn't been expecting this and, to be honest, neither had she.

"Yeah, we're… writing a book about them."

Somehow, Dean's lame excuse had allowed the two of them to escape and they met Sam outside of the funhouse.

"What took you guys so long?" he asked.

Dean sighed. "Long story."

_"Mummy, look at the clown!"_

The three of them turned and saw a little girl pointing through the small gap between the kiosks.

"What clown?" her mother asked.

The trio moved forward, trying to spot what she was talking about, but there was nothing there. The mother ushered her daughter away and Aggie glanced at the brothers with a raised brow.

…

For lack of better word, she felt like a creep. After finishing her shift at the carnival, she had changed back into her own clothes and filed into the car. By that time, it was night and she wasn't sure what was next in store until the Winchesters had said that they were waiting for someone. She didn't pry, figuring they knew what they were doing because they had been doing it since practically birth, and sooner or later Dean straightened in his seat and hit her lightly on the arm to grab her attention.

"There, follow that car."

He didn't elaborate and, uncertainly, she did as she was told. She only spoke up when the car stopped in the driveway of a cookie-cutter house and out came the little girl that they'd seen earlier.

"Really?" she asked, sending the two men an unimpressed glance.

"Gotta make sure they're safe," was all Dean said.

She turned back to look at the house, watching as one of the windows lit up so that they were able to see the family gather in their kitchen. So this was the hunting life—driving long hours on zero sleep and ten cups of coffee, hiding in the shadows, risking your life for strangers and not even getting paid. In that way, some hunters were stupid and some were just too kind for their own good. She was having trouble discerning what category the Winchesters fell into.

She heard her phone on vibrate but didn't bother to check it. She knew it was Jo. Ever since she texted her this afternoon to let her know that she had been forced to hunt with the Winchesters, the blonde had been messaging her jealously.

"Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown," Sam said.

"I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real," Dean corrected, bending down to retrieve his shotgun and cocking it.

"Keep that down!" Sam protested, quickly swatting it away.

Dean shrugged. "Oh, and get this. I mentioned the Bunker Brothers' Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse. Guess what."

"What?" asked Sam.

"Before Mr Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager."

"So, you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?"

"Something like that," Dean said. He exhaled tiredly and turned to glance at Aggie before looking at the window over her shoulder, eyeing the family they had come to watch. They soon retired to bed and it wasn't long until she felt a thud against her shoulder, Dean having also fallen asleep. She took a deep breath and leaned back into her seat, closing her eyes for a moment. They burned in exhaustion and somehow she felt a newfound respect for the Winchesters; hunting was more tiring than she expected.

…

Sam straightened when the lights of the kitchen flickered on. He shook his brother awake and, as Dean's head shot up, it knocked painfully against Aggie's, which had been resting on top. "Ow," she complained, shooting him a glare.

He looked at her innocently before readying his gun. "Stay here," he said, following Sam out of the car. "Honk if you're in trouble."

She nodded groggily as she swiped a hand through her hair and watched them pick the lock of the house's front door and sneak inside. It was silent from then on and, thinking they could handle themselves, Aggie used the time to blink out of her bleary state and fix her mess of a ponytail.

But then she heard a gunshot and shattering glass and the boys were dashing for her car, Dean chanting "drive, drive, drive" with panicked fervour.

…

"Are you kidding me?" Aggie muttered, staring at the number plate in her hands as the Winchesters dug their bags out of her Ute.

"Sorry, Aggie, we can't take the chance," Dean said, handing her her bag. "We'll come back for it after we finish off this hunt and getcha a new plate."

"We better," she sighed, slipping the plate into her bag and hefting it onto her shoulder. She sent the yellow vehicle one last longing glance as it hid within the trees off to the side of the country road before following the two boys.

"Well, one thing's for sure," Dean said, squinting from the sun.

"What's that?" asked Sam.

"We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid."

"Yeah," Sam said, "a person? Or a creature than can make itself invisible?"

"Why would an invisible creature dress up as some creepy ass clown?" Aggie grumbled, trying to keep up. Needless to say, she wasn't nearly as tall as the men and was forced to put in a little more effort walking.

Dean nodded. "Did it say anything in Dad's journal?"

"Nope." Sam reached into the pocket of his light brown jacket and brought out his phone.

"Who are you calling?" Dean asked.

"Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something," he said. He glanced at Aggie with an amused smile. "Hey, did Ellen and our dad, uh, ever have a thing?"

"What? No," she said, giving him a weird look. It was before her time but Ellen wasn't like that.

He laughed through his nose at her expression. "Then why didn't he tell us about her?"

"Maybe they had a falling out or something," said Dean.

"Yeah." Sam dialled Ellen's number and lifted the phone to his ear. "You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?"

Aggie dropped her head, staring tiredly at her feet, as Dean gave a slight nod and then turned to look at the wheat growing on the other side of the road.

Noticing the atmosphere, Sam slowly lowered his hand, hanging up before the call could connect. "Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man," he said sarcastically.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"I mean this 'strong silent' thing of yours—it's crap, I'm over it."

'Here we go,' Aggie sighed mentally, already uncomfortable being in between them.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, god."

"This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man."

"You know what? Back off, all right?" Dean complained. "Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to."

"No, no, no," Sam said, waving a finger, "that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with it but you _have_ to deal with it." He paused, trying to calm down. "Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay."

Dean glanced off to the side, a cynical smile on his face as he shook his head incredulously. "Dude, I'm okay. I'm _okay_, okay?" he shouted. "I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!"

The two of them stopped walking, forcing Aggie to do the same. She swallowed in discomfort, hating that they seemed to be fighting near constantly about John. Why couldn't they do this in their own time?

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, 'Oh, what would Dad want me to do?' Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with the man. I mean, hell, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, _now_ you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry, Sam, but you can't. It's too little, too late."

Sam tilted his head and, when the sunset hit his eyes, Aggie saw the glimmer of tears.

"Why are you saying this to me?" he murmured, in contrast to his screaming brother.

"Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this!" Dean yelled. "I'm dealing with Dad's death—are you?"

There was silence then, and Aggie watched as Sam swallowed tensely.

"I'm gonna call Ellen," he muttered, leaving.

Aggie didn't dare to even clear her throat as she and Dean slowly resumed walking, and she was annoyed by this, by the fact that she couldn't even clear her damn throat because the Winchesters always felt the need to thicken the atmosphere to an unpleasant density. More and more, she was regretting ever trying to be helpful to them and the more she regretted the more she felt confused. Why was she helping them in the first place? She barely knew them and she was getting nothing out of it.

"Sorry you had to hear that," Dean said awkwardly.

She dug her hands into the pockets of her anorak and shrugged. "Whatever." She walked on, looking down at her boots. They were really old, anyone could tell from the wrinkles in the brown leather, but surprisingly their colour hadn't faded much. She remembered that it had been called Peruvian brown when she'd bought them, a fancy way of describing it's unique mixture of brown and orange, like an autumn leaf. She liked them because of their thin laces and rustic feel. Not to mention that they had been on sale.

She suddenly realised there was a prickling on the side of her neck and glanced up to find Dean staring. "What?" she snapped.

"Nothing. Just… aren't you going to say anything about it?" That 'whatever' had been riddled with subtext and, for some reason, it was actually more uncomfortable for him if she didn't involve herself.

"Why should I? Your business is yours until you say otherwise."

There was another round of silence before he said, "I just hate when people think they have to start walking on eggshells around me just 'cause I lost my dad, you know?"

She nodded. "I get it, it's annoying, but don't take it as a bad thing. You should be grateful that people are actually being considerate of your feelings." She turned to look at him, pressing her lips together. It wasn't exactly a smile but the overall emotion it conveyed was comforting and Dean appreciated that she had been able to show him the flip side of the situation without resorting to a lecture.

Before the conversation could advance, Sam returned, but from the look on Dean's face she knew her words had had an impact. It might not have been deep but she was pleased it wasn't for naught.


	6. Hunt

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks for reviewing, guys. Honestly, I tend to write faster when you review because then I know there are people out there who actually care.

To answer some issues, I would love to add some more conversation scenes but Aggie isn't that talkative and, at this point, she is nowhere near close enough to be having deep conversations with the boys. Also, I've left her race ambiguous on purpose because you will find out later in the story. :) I promise that Aggie will seem less "bitchy" once you guys get to know her.

Don't forget to keep reviewing!

* * *

"Rakshasa."

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible and they cannot enter a home without first being invited."

"How polite," Aggie muttered. She was a little uncomfortable with the fact that the brothers had wordlessly decided to sweep their argument under the rug. She understood that there was still a bigger picture—the hunt—but, if it was her fight, that probably wouldn't stop her from sulking until the other person apologised.

"Right, Ellen also said that you're dead meat when we get back," Sam told her.

She tensed. "What? Why?"

"Something about giving Jo ideas about hunting."

"Balls," she cursed.

Dean snickered. "Bet you're wishin' this job'll last longer, huh?"

"Neither are pleasant but I'd rather get an ass-kicking from Ellen than spend another second hunting with you two chuckleheads." They didn't have to know that it was more because of the hunting than them.

"Ouch," he laughed. "So they dress up like clowns and the children invite 'em in," he said, looking at Sam.

"Yeah." Sam nodded.

"Why don't they just munch on the kids?"

"No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?"

"What else did you find out?" Dean asked as the three of them trekked the long road.

"Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects."

"Nice."

"Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess."

Aggie wasn't quite sure if Sam was joking or not. The way he and Dean conversed about the things they hunted, as if they were just common animals, game; she had never met hunters quite as adjusted to the life as them. Wise and experienced, maybe, but never this natural.

"Well, that makes sense—the carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81," Dean agreed.

"Right. Probably more before that."

"Hey, Sam, who do we know that worked both shows?"

"Cooper?"

"Cooper."

"You know, that picture of his father, that looked just like him," mused Sam.

"Think maybe it _was_ him?"

Sam shrugged. "Who knows how old he is?"

"Ellen say how to kill him?"

"Legend goes a dagger made of pure brass."

"Because everyone should have a brass dagger lying around," Aggie muttered.

Dean lifted the corner of his mouth. "I think I know where to get one of those."

"Of course," she said flatly.

"Well, before we go stabbing things into Cooper, we're gonna wanna make damn sure it's him," Sam reasoned.

"Oh, you're such a stickler for details, Sammy," teased Dean. The two of them smiled at each other and Aggie chuckled through her nose, appreciating the more pleasant atmosphere. "All right, I'll round up the blade, you go check if Cooper's got bedbugs."

Sam nodded. "Coming, Aggie?"

She looked up at him, lacklustre. "Do I got a choice?"

…

They reached the carnival on schedule, by nightfall, just as the troupe was beginning to pack up. Aggie followed Sam as he crept towards the quiet side of Cooper's trailer, shadowed by trees. She kept an eye out as he picked the lock before they both hurried inside and shut the door behind them, too cautious to turn on the light.

Sam brought out a switchblade and bent down to sweep away the blankets on Cooper's bed. Again Aggie looked out for any passersby through the window while being mindful to stay hidden. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder, seeing Sam reach down to slice the mattress, when a shotgun cocked.

The two of them spun to the dark side of the room as Cooper stepped into the moonlight. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, pointing his gun in their faces. The two of them exchanged a glance.

"Uh…"

…

"Well, I've got all kinds of knives," the blind man mused as he led Dean into his trailer. "Don't know if I've got a brass one though…"

As he began to search around, Dean mindlessly fiddled with one of his old trunks. He opened it with the thought that he could stumble across what he was looking for but all that greeted him was a dirty clown costume.

Then he realised.

"You?" he muttered, turning around.

The blind man dropped his cane and slipped his sunglasses off his face, revealing a pair of perfectly working eyes. They soon grew cloudy, glowing green, and he flashed Dean a sinister smile, waving his fingers before vanishing.

Hurriedly, Dean moved towards the door and rattled the handle, cursing under his breath when it appeared locked. A knife whipped past his ear and struck the wood millimetres from his face and he jumped, another one landing just above it. "All right!" he yelled, finally getting the door to open. He burst through the frame and stumbled down the stairs in a panic.

"Hey!"

He skidded and almost tripped as he swivelled around, spotting Sam and Aggie.

"So, Cooper thinks we're perverts but it's not him," Sam said.

"Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere," Dean said breathlessly, looking around.

"Did you get the—"

"Brass blades? No, it's just been one of those days."

"Then what are we going to do?" Aggie asked, squaring her shoulders. The thought of an invisible creature out to get her was unnerving to say the least. "How are we gonna kill it?"

Sam tilted his head. "I've got an idea, come on." He led the two into the funhouse, Dean taking up the rear just in case. It was dark with only a black light turned on, illuminating the fluorescent paint against the borders of the doorways and mirrors. Sam surged forward into another hall and Aggie wanted to call out to him to wait when a panel slid in front of her, cutting off the path and separating her and Dean from him.

"Sam!" Dean called worriedly, banging on the door.

"Guys, find the maze okay!" he shouted from the other side.

Aggie clenched her jaw as she looked at Dean. Typical, almost ominous, carnival music was playing through the loud speakers on the ceiling and, as the two of them made their way through the maze, Aggie tensed at the sound of air hissing in another room, followed by mechanical laughter. Someone had walked through and triggered the hanging skeleton.

They heard a "Gah!" and reached an opening, seeing Sam in front of an organ, flinching. He was pulling out one of its brass pipes despite the fact that it was giving off steam, revealing its painful heat.

"Sam," Aggie said.

He looked over at them. "Hey! Where is it?"

"I don't know," Dean answered with a shrug as he looked over his shoulder. "I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?" Something zipped through the air and he was abruptly pinned to the wall by a knife caught on his sleeve.

Aggie looked back at Sam, unsure who to help, when another throwing knife pierced the end of her anorak and pulled her towards the wall next to Dean. She thudded against it painfully, wincing.

"Where is he?" Sam yelled as she struggled against the knife, trying to dislodge it. Unfortunately, it was embedded deep into the wall and it only made her more afraid of the Rakshasa's strength.

"I don't know." Dean reached over her head to pull a red lever at the top corner of the wall. More steam gushed out of the pipe organ, making her squint at the fumes before noticing the fog hit against something solid, outlining its shape.

"There!" she said, nodding towards it.

"Sam, behind you, behind you!"

Flustered, Sam drove his pipe backwards and froze when it pierced something solid. He quickly turned around, groaning as he tried to push it deeper into the creature. Blood poured through the pipe's opening and he let go just as Dean managed to dislodge his knives. He cut off the steam and then pulled out the knife holding Aggie, the two of them joining Sam. However, all that was left was a pile of clothes and the bloody pipe.

"I hate funhouses," Dean muttered.

…

Exhausted and a little grumpy after getting a new number plate, Aggie had tossed Dean her keys and sat in the middle, instantly falling asleep. She thudded against Sam's side, her head lolling forward so that the pieces of hair too short to tie back slipped from behind her ears and curtained her sleeping face.

She woke up only when Sam gently shook her shoulder. He almost wanted to laugh at the grouchy expression on her face as she dragged herself out of the Ute and into the Roadhouse, squinting and ponytail a mess. It was dawn and everyone was still asleep so the three took turns getting cleaned up.

By the time they had all showered and changed into fresh clothes, the day was glowing warm and yellow and Ellen and Jo were busying themselves at the bar, a few other hunters scattered around the tables, leisurely cleaning their weapons. They turned as Aggie dumped herself on a stool, sighing loudly.

"Hell of a job?" Ellen greeted with a laugh, noticing Aggie's glare.

She didn't reply and Jo chuckled as the boys came to join them, Dean on the end and Sam taking the seat beside Aggie.

"Your dad would be proud," Ellen said, returning with beer.

"Thanks," Sam said before he glanced at Aggie, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You all right?"

"My whole body hurts," she grumbled. "This is why I only handle the dead ones; they're too much trouble when they're alive." She leaned her face on her hand and struggled to look at him. "When the cops find out the blind man's dead, don't you think they're gonna come after us? We _are_ new employees who mysteriously disappeared."

"We gave them fake names, fake everything; they won't find us," Sam assured.

"Aggie, you wanna, uh, go rest?" Jo suggested, eyeing her friend's exhausted features.

Aggie was about to decline when she looked up and saw the face Jo was giving her. She gave Dean a quick glance before sighing. "Fine." She stood up and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go play pool."

Even though she said this, she couldn't help but stare heatedly at the two from the billiards table, so much so that Sam noticed and raised a brow. "What's got you so worked up?"

"I don't like Jo mixing with your brother," she muttered. "He's a bad influence."

Sam laughed softly. "I can't deny that."

Aggie smiled a bit, crossing her arms and leaning back against the table as Sam rested his beer bottle on the surface and did the same. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "Don't really think he's in the mood."

"In the mood?" she echoed, restraining from scoffing.

The back door opened then and out strolled Ash in his usual wrinkled flannel, the folder full of John's work tucked under his arm and a bizarre laptop-like contraption in his other hand. "Where you guys been?" he hollered, noticing everyone present. "Been waiting for ya."

"We were working a job," Aggie grumbled.

"You? Working a job?"

"Believe it or not." She shrugged. "Clowns."

"Clowns? What the f—"

"You got something for us, Ash?" Dean interrupted.

Ash nodded and set down his equipment on the countertop, prompting Jo to move out of the way as Aggie and Sam went to join them.

"Did you find the demon?" Sam asked.

"It's nowhere around," Ash said. "At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises its head, I'll know. I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie."

"What does that even mean?" Aggie muttered.

"I mean," Ash said, turning the laptop screen to face them, "any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig will go off, like a fire alarm." Among some obscure windows that Aggie, and probably the Winchesters, knew nothing about, a weather tracker was open.

Sam smiled to himself in amazement. "Ash, where did you learn to do all this?"

"M.I.T…before I got bounced for fighting." He shrugged.

"M.I.T?" Sam echoed.

"It's a school in Boston."

Aggie laughed despite herself.

"Okay," Dean said, taking a swig from his beer, "give us a call when you know something?"

"Si, si, compadre," Ash said. He took Dean's bottle and finished off the rest as the Winchesters stood and stepped away from the bar.

"Hey, listen," Ellen said, noticing their movement, "if you boys want to stay, you're more than welcome to."

"Thanks but no," Dean said. "There's something I gotta finish."

Ellen nodded, resigning with a small smile. "Okay."

Aggie slapped her hands onto the countertop and rose from her stool with a sigh. "I'm dropping them off," she said, getting her anorak and keys. "I'll be back in a day or two." She motioned for the boys to follow her and so they all piled into her Ute in their usual seating arrangement with Dean in the middle.


End file.
